Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Baz

“What about sushi?” Dev asks.

“It’s fucking freezing,” Niall grumbles. “I want something warm. Soup?”

“What are you, ninety years old?” my cousin teases. Niall shows him two fingers.

I sip on my hot coffee and offer a compromise, “There’s that place that makes ramen.”

“Nah, it’s always full,” Dev argues. “And the waiter was a right arse last time.”

“Just because you asked for the waitress’s number, and she turned out to be his girlfriend,” Niall points out acidly.

He needs to learn to be more subtle about his terrible crush on my cousin. Either that or finally make a move on him before Dev finally finds someone who wants to date him.

“Pizza?” Dev suggests, completely ignoring Niall’s jab.

I just want them to stop bickering and pick a bloody place where we can eat, because I’m about to turn into a block of ice and my leg is killing me today. It’s been giving me grief since I got kidnapped by those fucking Numpties back at Watford. It’s been four years, but it doesn’t heal, no matter how many spells Fiona and my father cast on me. I suspect it’s because it was injured and left untreated for six weeks. There doesn’t seem to be a spell that works, and not for lack of trying—Fiona casts them daily.   

I was such a mess when she found me. Starved and desperate, the only thing keeping me sane throughout those wretched six weeks was the thought of him. My soulmate. I don’t know who he is or where he lives. The only thing I know is that I have his words written on my skin, in awful handwriting, almost illegible. The mark is hidden by my hair, at the nape of my neck—right below the place where I was bitten. Like all soulmarks, it changes colour, shifting like a kaleidoscope in the light. I can only see it in the mirror, unlike Niall and Dev, who have their marks on their arms. I have spent a ridiculous amount of time staring at mine, thinking that there’s someone out there just for me. Even if I’m a vampire. Even if I’m a mess.

I had to get out of there alive, because I hadn’t met him yet.

“Maybe you should go see a doctor,” Niall says when he notices that I’m limping quite badly. “My mum’s physiotherapist is pretty good. I can ask for his number, if you want.”

“I’m fine,” I huff out, trying to hide a grimace. It’s so painful today.

“You don’t exactly look fine,” Dev argues, slowing down to wait for me.

I hate that.

I hate that I’m in my early twenties and I can’t even play sports like I used to. I hate that it hurts if I stand too long when I’m playing the violin. I hate that on the worst days I have to use a cane because it hurts to even move my leg, let alone to put weight on it, and going down the stairs is pure agony.

But it’s not like I can go to the doctor and ask for treatment. What if they order blood tests? What if they examine me and realise that my body is freezing cold because I’m a vampire?

I can’t risk it.

So, I just mutter a swear word under my breath and follow my friends down the road, hoping that they decide soon where they want to eat, and that it’s not too far. And that’s when it happens.

Someone turns the corner and runs straight into me.

It’s like colliding with a freight train. The impact throws me off balance in an instant, and I land on the hard concrete with a loud thud, the stranger falling on top of me with all of his weight. The pain is suddenly so strong and blinding that it’s all that I can focus on for a handful of seconds.

I feel like I broke something. That’s the last thing I needed.

There’s a sudden, burning sensation on my chest, and I realise that I’ve poured all of my hot coffee on my periwinkle shirt.

Shit, it hurts. It burns through my freezing skin and makes me feel like I’m on fire. I hiss at the sudden burst of pain from my leg when I move.

I am done.

I am so fucking done with this.

“Fuck off!” I shout at the stranger, pushing him away from me with both of my hands.

I glare at the stupid oaf who collided with me because he couldn’t be bothered to look where he was going, and my breath gets stuck in my throat because he’s absolutely stunning. He’s all freckles and moles, blue eyes and bronze curls. He has lovely lips and a cute nose. And he smells like he has so much magic that he could make the world spin backwards if only he wanted to.

“Look what you’ve done, you imbecile!” Niall exclaims. “You hurt him! Baz, are you alright?”

“I—I’m fine,” I mumble, my eyes still locked with the stranger’s. They’re so blue and wonderful. I still feel like my chest is on fire, so I look down and blurt out without thinking, “But my shirt is ruined…”

“That’s a Versace shirt,” Dev adds with a raised eyebrow, his eyes scanning the stranger’s tatty t-shirt and old trainers. “I hope you’ve got enough money to pay for a new one.”

Curly glares at my cousin, then he frowns at me from the pavement. I realise that under his green hoodie, his t-shirt also has a big coffee stain, but I don’t have enough time to ask him if he got scalded, because he stands up on his feet and doesn’t even offer me his hand to get up.

“Posh twat,” he spits out at me before he turns around and runs in the direction of the bus stop.

I freeze.

What did he say?

“Hey, come back, you absolute wanker!” Dev calls.

But the only thing I can focus on are the two words that escaped the stranger’s lips.

Posh twat.

“Baz,” Niall says, his hazel eyes comically huge, his lips parted in shock.

“What’s the matter with you two?” Dev asks, looking confused. “Do you need help standing up?”

“He called him a posh twat.”

“Yeah, I heard. How fucking rude!” Dev retorts, still fuming on my behalf.

“No, he said the words posh twat,” Niall says, then pointing at my neck. “Like Baz’s soulmark. That idiot is Baz’s soulmate!”

“Oh, shit…” Dev blurts out in a daze. “Oh, fuck!”

I am still paralysed, rooted to the spot with my bum on the pavement. I can only stare at the mass of bronze curls bouncing as the freckled stranger waves his hand and signals for the incoming bus to stop. And I think that’s it—I’ve lost my chance. I met him, and he’s going to disappear from my life after insulting me. After I told him to fuck off—oh Crowley, that’s his soulmark. I always thought mine was terrible, but his is so much worse! And it’s all my fault…

The first thing I said to him was to fuck off. If he is my soulmate, then he’s been walking around the earth with an insult etched into his skin since he was born.

Like me.

We match.

But before I can apologise or pointlessly attempt to run after him with my wretched leg, I see Niall sprint and run for the bus, jumping on at the last minute.

I stare at the bus leaving, my mouth still agape.

Dev casts a healing charm on me, then another, but I still can’t move.

Niall

I can’t find my Oyster card, and the bus driver is being a right dick about it. By the time I reach the freckled stranger, he’s still clearly fuming and glares at me.

“Hi,” I say, trying to sound friendly and relaxed. I clearly fail because his frown only deepens. “Can I have your number for my friend, please?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! I’m not giving you any money to pay for the dry cleaner, mate,” he retorts, his voice too loud. An elderly lady stares at us with a horrified expression on her face, but Freckles doesn’t seem to be perturbed. “Your friend was in the way and wasn’t looking where he was going. It’s his fault as much as it is mine. And what about my t-shirt? My uncle gave it to me. It was a birthday present!”

“No, forget about the dry cleaner. I didn’t follow you to bother you about the bloody shirt,” I try to explain.

I sit down next to him, and he makes an annoyed sound, but I ignore it. Merlin, why could Baz not get a nicer bloke as a soulmate? I mean, not that I’m surprised after knowing for ages what his soulmark was. I’ve been bracing myself for years.

“What d’you want, then? I’m having a supremely crap day, so make it quick.”

“The words you said to him,” I start tentatively. How did he not realise? Maybe he hasn’t heard what Baz said to him. Come to think of it—what did Baz say to him? Freckles makes an impatient sound, so I continue, “You called him a ‘posh twat’. That’s his soulmark. My friend Baz is your soulmate.”

Freckles looks shocked for a moment. His breath hitches in his throat, and he stares at me with his mouth open. He seems petrified for a handful of seconds, but then he starts blinking, and his eyebrows knit in confusion.

“That—that’s not possible,” he mutters. “My soulmate is a woman. She has the neatest and loveliest handwriting.”

“So does Baz,” I tell him.

I rummage through the pockets of my coat and fish out the shopping list Baz wrote for Dev’s birthday party. I show it to Freckles, who pales and makes a wounded sound at the back of his throat, almost a whimper.

Then he slowly lifts his t-shirt, showing me his chest.

His soulmark rests on the left side of his ribcage, right where his heart is, and I think that’s bloody romantic, but then I realise what the words are. I suddenly remember what Baz said to him as I read it on his skin. And I feel a wave of sympathy and shame on behalf of this stranger, who has the words Fuck off! written on his heart in Baz’s lovely handwriting. It looks almost surreal spelt out in such flowery calligraphy.

“Oh,” he says slowly and softly, “I’ve spent my whole life waiting for a chance to meet him…” The hurt and sarcasm drip from every word as he lowers his top.

I don’t know what to say.

This has got to be the worst ever first encounter between soulmates.

But they’re meant for each other. That’s how it works. That’s why I’ve been so fucking miserable all my life, because all my soulmark says is Hello. It’s practically impossible for me to find out who my soulmate is. But it isn’t for these two. And I’ll do anything to make sure Baz is happy because he’s my best friend.

“Baz, he—he’s different,” I try. “He may look cold and aloof, but he’s a hopeless romantic at heart. I know some people don’t care about soulmates, or they fool around until they meet them, but Baz is not like that. He’s been waiting for you. All of his life. He hasn’t been with anyone else. Even if his soulmark was rude and insulting. Even if it clearly pained him to look at it. He still waited for you and has spent every single day hoping he’d find you.”

Freckles seems to let my words sink in before he zips up his hoodie and sits there hugging his chest. He looks outside the window at the passing cars. We stop at a red light, and he still hasn’t spoken.

I wonder if the fact that Baz is a man is a problem.

If it’s the insult that is bothering him.

But then he reaches for the shopping list that is still in my hand, and he turns it around. He fishes a purple sharpie out of the pocket of his hoodie and scribbles something on it.

It’s a phone number. There’s a name above it, written in his atrocious handwriting.

Simon Snow.

Baz

I pace around my room, or at least I try to, but my leg is giving me so much grief that I end up lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

Niall got his number. And his name.

Simon Snow.

I don’t know what to write to him. I’m pants at this. Absolutely useless.

I’ve never hit on anyone before. I’ve never felt the right or the need to, because my soulmate was out there, and I wasn’t going to waste time on other men. No, I’ve been patiently waiting for him, thinking that everything would turn out fine and we’d fall in love at first sight despite my soulmark.

I told myself that maybe my soulmate was going to call me a posh twat in a flirty kind of way. Maybe he was going to joke about it. But a part of me was dreading this kind of encounter since I found out what those words meant.

I slide my hand along the top of my spine, feeling the scar the vampire who bit me left on my neck. My soulmark is just there. I remember asking Father what the words meant when I was little. I used to stare at it in the mirror, unable to read it backwards when I had just started to learn how to make sense of words.

I remember the disgust and shame painted on my father’s face. His refusal to explain, despite my insistence.

He said it was bad words.

It made me feel wrong. Like my soulmark was bad, like the rest of me—cold and different in all sorts of ways.

My mother had died, and I was a rotten apple.

It was Fiona who eventually explained it to me. She found it hilarious. She told me not to worry about it, that people sometimes said rude words, but it didn’t necessarily make them bad. She swears all the time, and she’s wonderful in my eyes. I told myself that maybe my soulmate was a bit like Fiona.

Maybe everything was going to be fine.

I stare at the piece of paper in my hand. I have already memorised the number. I feel a strange lump in my throat.

Niall said Snow was expecting a woman. What if he’s straight?

But that can’t be possible—can it?

I decide to ignore the awful feeling in my chest and the lump in my throat that keeps on getting bigger and bigger, and I start texting him.

Hello, my name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. We met earlier today.

I don’t know what else to write.

How does one approach the potential love of his life after such a disastrous first encounter?

I’m about to write that I’m his soulmate, in case he forgot (or decided to forget), but I see that he’s typing and decide to wait instead.

Bloody hell, that’s well posh!

I freeze and almost drop my phone on my face.

Posh.

My fingers automatically reach for the back of my neck, and I flinch.

Is he going to call me a twat again?

Before he does, I decide to tell him he can just use my middle name, but his second message comes first.

Your friend called you Baz. Can I do the same?

Yes, of course.

Maybe that was too eager. Sod it. I’m so shit at this. But it’s better than this morning, right? At least we’re not insulting each other.

I don’t believe in soulmates.

My heart sinks. It’s a good job I’m lying down, because otherwise I would be on the floor.

I’ve been waiting for him all my life.

He’s the only thing I’ve looked forward to. I didn’t get to grow up with my mother. I didn’t get to choose what I study at university. If it were for my father, I would already be engaged to one of the daughters of his friends at the club, but I said no. That I have a soulmate, despite being a soulless creature who probably doesn’t deserve to find happiness.

For years I anguished over the unfairness of it all. I had my soulmark before I was turned into a vampire. My soulmate hasn’t done anything to deserve this—neither have I, but maybe being a Pitch was enough—it’s so unfair for Snow to be stuck with me.

But to find out that he doesn’t even believe that we’re meant for each other…

I feel the tears running down my eyes, and I thank Crowley that at least I’m on my own. That he’s not telling me this face to face. At least I have my dignity intact (what the hell am I going to do with it now that I’ve lost the last glimmer of hope, I don’t know).

I realise that I’m sobbing just when my phone buzzes again.

But your friend Niall said you do.

Listen, I’m a bit of a mess at the moment.

I’m going through a lot.

But I’m free tomorrow from 12. Want to meet for lunch?

I don’t eat in front of people—I never do, because my fangs won’t stay in—but I type at the speed of light.

Yes. Just let me know where.

I have a date with Simon Snow.

Simon

I can’t wrap my head around the fact that he’s a bloke.

He’s really gorgeous, too. His black hair reaches the tip of his shoulders, framing his handsome face in soft waves. He’s elegant and smart, graceful in a breath-taking way. I watch him drape the jacket of his suit over his chair—who on earth wears a suit and a waistcoat on a Tuesday afternoon to go to a cheap curry place?—and then readjust his tie. It matches his navy suit. It’s this lovely shade of blue that’s almost purple. It makes his pale skin glow and look almost pearlescent.

I can’t peel my eyes from him.

I think this must be a mistake. Someone like him can’t possibly be bound by magic to a wreck like me.

But he attempts a smile, despite our disastrous first meeting, and he orders water and chicken korma when the waiter arrives.

We stare at each for a long moment, before I break the silence.

“You said your campus is close to here,” I remember from the last text he sent me. I’ve read them all several times. Even though all I wanted to do was ignore them. I’ve spent years trying not to think about the soulmark on my chest, pointlessly avoiding looking at it. “What do you study?”

“Economics. I’m in my third year, and I am almost done. I’ll graduate in the summer,” he replies. He has a deep, lovely voice. I feel like I could listen to him for hours. Like one of those radio presenters.

“What do you want to do afterwards?” I ask, because I want to know more about him.

Maybe there’s a catch. There must be a catch—he’s too good to be true.

Maybe the Mage sent him to test me, and he’s not actually my soulmate.

The waiter arrives with his water and my beer. I start sipping on it and wait for his reply.

“I—I don’t really know what I’ll do afterwards,” he confesses, looking a little sheepish, which I wasn’t expecting of him. He seems to be the type of guy who has everything planned out. The kind of person who actually knows how to reply to the question ‘where do you see yourself in five years?’ Or at least who knows what he’s doing after graduation. “I…to be honest with you, I was meant to do a master’s degree that my father picked for me, but I—”

He seems to bite his tongue. I wonder how many times he’s said this out loud.

I wonder if he ever has, judging by the startled expression on his face.

I shrug and reach for one of the complementary poppadoms they gave us. Baz doesn’t seem to be interested.

“You don’t have to know everything,” I tell him simply. “I’ve got no clue what I’m going to do tomorrow. I mean, other than going to my classes, that is.”

“What are you studying?” he asks, sitting up straight and looking extremely interested.

“Oh, I—” I wonder what he’s going to think of me. He looks rich and well-educated. He has perfect elocution, no hint of an accent (except for sounding rather posh). “I kind of fucked up a little.”

“How so?” he asks politely, reaching for his water again.

Is he going to eat any of the poppadoms? I’m going to finish them all if he doesn’t hurry up.

“I kind of started studying biology,” I admit, scratching the back of my head and playing with my curls. His eyes follow my fingers. It makes me feel seen, but not in a bad way. Baz has the prettiest eyes—such a light shade of blue that it can only be described as grey, almost silver. But they’re not cold. At least not today, not with me right now. “I was studying biology at Leeds University, but then I—my nan had an accident. She fell down the stairs because she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing, but it gave me the scare of my life, so I left uni for a bit to make sure she was fine. And then…I kind of changed my mind about what I wanted to do. And I decided to become a physiotherapist instead.”

His dark eyebrows rise in surprise, but he doesn’t seem disappointed or judgy. Just curious.

“Did you want to help your grandmother get better?” he asks, tilting his head and focusing all of his attention on me. There are other people coming and going, and the waiter comes with more poppadoms, but Baz only seems to have eyes for me.

“I kind of—I know this sounds weird, but my magic is not exactly like—everyone else’s,” I start hesitantly. Baz nods, looking all serious.

“Oh, I can tell,” he says. “You seem to have so much of it that—well…”

“Am I smoking?” I ask, worrying that I started letting out some magic without realising (it happens if I haven’t been using enough or when I’m too engrossed into something) (fuck, I’ve never met anyone like Baz before). “Shit, am I stinking up the place?”

But Baz shakes his head no, looking startled.

“No, it’s nothing bad. It’s just—your scent,” he says, biting on his bottom lip, as if he said something inappropriate. “It’s—nice. You smell like you have a lot of magic in you.”

I don’t know how he can tell. Most people only realise when I can’t control it and let out too much.

My eyes narrow as I try to find what his secret is, but then the waiter brings our food, and I am starving, so I tuck in.

I realise after a moment that Baz hasn’t touched his food. I point at it, but he just shakes his head minutely and rests his chin on his elbow while he watches me eat.

“So, my nan needed massages on her legs after her fall,” I continue from where I left before. “And I tried to do what her physiotherapist had done, but I kind of—pushed a tiny bit of my magic into it. Without meaning to. And it made her feel so much better, so I kind of thought…”

I take a big sip of my beer and then grab my naan to dip it in the sauce of my curry. I always feel stupid when I try to explain this to people, because it makes me feel like a hoax. Apparently no one has ever done that before. When I tried to explain it to her doctor, who is also a mage, he thought I was bonkers or taking the micky. I’ve tried showing him, but he cried out in pain as I zapped him with the tiniest bit of my magic.

It’s only ever worked on my nan. But I want to find out if I can make it work on others.

I want to do something good with my magic, instead of always feeling useless about my lack of control over it.

“What if you can help other people, too?” Baz provides. “I think that’s lovely.”

I grin at him, and the smile he gives me is so tentative, as if he wasn’t normally allowed to smile like that in his everyday life.

I want to know what his laughter sounds like.

I want to know why he limped when he came in.

What he likes doing in his spare time, and if he has any siblings. What his favourite colour is, and what he actually likes eating, because he hasn’t touched his food, and I’ve practically demolished mine.

This was meant to be a one off. A way to let him down gently before either of us got too invested, because I don’t believe in soulmates, and I know I’ll only be trouble. I will never be able to make him happy.

But I can’t let him go.

I was meant to tell him that we can’t see each other anymore.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I find myself asking instead.

He nods and finally smiles a true smile. It’s so breathtaking that I find myself holding my breath.

Baz

He has a northern accent. I listen to him speak, loving the lilt of his voice. The way he says ‘scone’ (so different from the way I was taught to pronounce it).

We walk slowly along the Thames—I don’t tell him that I’m supposed to be at university right now. I can catch up with my missed lecture later anyway. He’s more important.

He asked if I was okay walking—he must have noticed that I was limping but didn’t mention it—and I said yes, even though I’m probably going to be in an awful lot of pain this evening. I didn’t want him to leave, not yet.

It’s an unusually sunny day, but the wind is freezing. I wrap up in my coat and scarf, but he wears his duffle coat open on his hoodie, his throat bare and eyes shining as he tells me about getting lost in London because it’s just too big. Lunch was a bit tense at the beginning, especially after our disastrous first meeting, but he’s warming up to me, smiling more and more as the minutes together turn into hours.

I can’t get enough of him. Of his freckles and moles. Of how funny and full of life he is—he’s practically brimming with it.

“Did you grow up abroad?” I ask.

I’ve been meaning to try to find out for a while. He didn’t come to Watford like the rest of us, and yet he can clearly use magic. He has a golden ring tied around his neck in a simple chain. It looks like a very old wedding band, probably a family heirloom. He used it to discreetly cast his hoodie clean when he accidentally got it stained with my korma after I passed it to him.

My stomach’s in knots. I didn’t eat anything because I was terrified my fangs would pop. I had some rats this morning, but I feel empty and jittery with nerves.

What if he doesn’t like me?

What if he’s straight, and this is all a giant reminder that my life is fucked up, and I can’t even have a soulmate, since I lost my soul when I was Turned?

“I grew up in Yorkshire,” he replies, taking a while to answer. He seems to mull things over, as if he were trying to decide how much he can share with me. And I suddenly feel so cold and lost. I want to take the question back. To ask him about something else. But then he adds, “I—my nan wanted to keep me safe, so she didn’t send me to Watford. I had private tutors, instead.”

Safe?

From what?

I wonder who his grandmother is. His surname doesn’t ring a bell, so he’s not from one of the Old Families. It’s highly unusual for a Magickal child not to be sent to Watford, but it’s not unheard of.

I have so many questions I want to ask, but he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it because he swiftly changes the subject and asks me about how long I’ve been living in London.

“Since I started university,” I reply easily. “I grew up in Hampshire. Pitch Manor is in the New Forest.”

“You grew up in a manor?” he asks, looking like he’s about to take the piss or call me posh again, but I just nod. He chuckles to himself, then looks at my leg. It’s starting to hurt like hell. Snow stops in his tracks and looks around. He points at a little café tucked in a corner. “Fancy a cuppa? I’m dying for some tea.”

Simon

I was meant to let him go.

I don’t know how I ended up spending hours with him. I skipped a lecture. I didn’t even text Penny to let her know I was going to be late for dinner at her place.

The day has already turned dark when I stand in front of him at the entrance of the Tube station. We need to take different lines.

I should tell him that it’s been lovely spending time with him, but we have no future together.

“I’ll text you,” I say instead. He brightens up instantly.

“Yes?” he asks, brimming with hope.

“And we can meet up at the weekend, if you’re fr—”

“I’m free,” he says, a little too fast.

I can’t tell if he likes me. He’s probably built this image of me in his head over the years—someone who could match him. Someone rich and posh and wonderful, with a million degrees and a perfect control of their magic. Someone muscular or lean. Someone who isn’t covered in freckles and moles and has a squishy belly.

He’s going to get so disappointed once he gets to know me properly.

He’s going to shatter my heart.

“I’ll see you soon, then,” I say, and I suddenly realise that we didn’t even shake hands when we first met.

We’ve had the worst start.

I hesitate for a moment before I decide that even if I don’t believe in soulmates and Baz told me to fuck off when we first met, I’m still the one who ran into him and hurt him.

I offer him my hand, and he immediately takes it.

His fingers are freezing when they wrap around mine, and my first thought is that I should have held his hand during our walk to warm him up.

I squeeze, and he squeezes back.

He smiles that breath-taking smile at me, and I feel something explode in my chest.

Fuck, I’m already screwed.

Baz

Favourite snack?

I get his text when I’m out of the Tube station. I wasn’t expecting him to write to me so soon, and I feel happiness bubbling inside me.

Maybe he wasn’t completely creeped out by me. Maybe he doesn’t hate me, even though he has my insults written on his skin.

Salt and vinegar crisps. What about you?

It takes him a handful of seconds to answer.

Mint Aero bar.

I take a cab because I don’t think I can walk home, not after I pushed my leg beyond its limits.

Eww! That stuff tastes like toothpaste!   

He sends me a middle finger emoji.

I worry for a moment that I’ve offended him, but then he texts back almost straight away.

Rugby or football?

Football, I reply straight away.

Rugby’s way better.

Please don’t tell me you’re a rugger.

He sends another middle finger emoji. I take it as a yes.

Do you play football?

I hesitate. I wish I still did. I really enjoyed it. I miss that sense of elation when scoring a goal, the team gathering around me to slap my back and cheer with me. I used to feel one of them in that fleeting moment of euphoria.

I used to. I had to stop.

He doesn’t reply for a long moment. He doesn’t ask me why, and I think that’s it—he got bored or fed up or is disappointed.

When I get out of the cab, I drink a handful of rats before I get back. I use the lift to get to the flat I share with Fiona, but I find it empty. I’m tired, but I need to eat something. Blood isn’t enough, and having an empty stomach reminds me of the Numpties. I shudder at the thought and turn all the lights on, heading for the kitchen.

I put the phone on the table while I cook myself something simple (I won’t be able to stand for too long). I try to ignore my phone, but then I dive for it as soon as it vibrates.

Thoughts on marmite?

Love it.

I wait for him to type and tell me that he hates it. To confirm that we’re not meant for each other.

Me too!

I exhale in relief, and I don’t think I’ve ever cared so much in my life about bloody marmite. I decide to make myself a toastie with cheese and marmite to celebrate the fact that we have at least one thing in common.

But then his texts keep on coming, and I find out that we don’t like the same music or the same books, but surprisingly we share a passion for home-cooked, comfort food and cakes.

Tea or coffee?

One hundred percent tea. Why are most of your questions about food?

Shut up. Favourite type of juice? Mine’s orange.

Apricot.

Where the fuck do you even get apricot juice?

Italy. My grandmother was Italian. I used to spend my summers there when I was little. She always gave me apricot juice mid-afternoon for my ‘merenda’ (which is like an afternoon snack).

I like afternoon snacks. I think they should have an official name in English too. Favourite season?

Spring

Me too!

Favourite tea?

Earl Grey. Milk, no sugar.  

Thank Crowley. I would have to delete your contact information if you liked English Breakfast.

I actually love Yorkshire tea, but it doesn’t taste the same here. The water’s all wrong.

Explain, please.

He goes off a tangent about the fact that the water needs to be right to brew the tea to perfection, and down south it tastes all wrong, so he can’t wait to visit home so that he can hug his grandmother and enjoy a cup of proper Yorkshire tea with her.

I wonder when he’s going back. I feel a sense of dread creeping in my chest while I do the washing up.

Just because we are soulmates, it doesn’t mean that we’re going to spend our whole life together. It could just be a month or a few days. I’ve heard of people who had the most intense but also shortest love stories before one of them died.

Favourite animal?

Dragon.

Show-off!

I can’t help but smile. I ask him what his favourite is.

I think I’m going to go for red pandas. I saw them at Edinburgh zoo last summer. They’re amazing!

Aww, how cute of you. Did you get one of the teddies at the gift shop?

He sends me another middle finger emoji, and I laugh out loud.

I lie on the sofa and browse for red panda teddies. I find the most perfect one. My thumb hovers on save for later for a handful of seconds. I call myself an idiot for clicking buy now.

I’m not his boyfriend. I’m not even his friend. I’m his nothing at the moment. The person who gave him an offensive soulmark for life.

But he said he wants to meet me again at the weekend.

Hope is like embers in my heart—never fully alive, but shimmering in the darkness.

Simon

“Who on earth are you constantly texting?” Penny asks, peering over my shoulder.

“Baz,” I reply with a grimace.

Penny sighs and reaches for the water jug on the table. Shep’s gone back home to visit his mum, so I come over for dinner every day to keep her company. And because I’m not used to living on my own and feel lonely. I like Penny. She’s been my only friend since I was little. The only child who knew about magic. I always looked forward to meeting her during the holidays and on the rare weekends when nan took the risk of taking me to London.

Penny’s been a constant in my existence, and I would trust her with my life.

“Do you still feel the same way about the whole soulmark deal?” she asks, standing up to get some fruit. She throws me a banana and munches on an apple. I shrug. “I mean, considering that your mother ran away from her soulmate when she was nine months pregnant because she was worried he was trying to end the world, I would say that you don’t have the best precedent in your family.”

“And my uncle Jamie’s soulmate died when they were eleven years old,” I remind her. “That’s very fucked up.”

“My great-grandmother met her soulmate when she was eighty-four,” she says serenely. “Her husband had passed away a few decades before. Imagine if she hadn’t married and hadn’t had children in the meantime? I wouldn’t be here. And I know she absolutely adored my great-grandfather. And what was your uncle Jamie meant to do? Stop living his life just because his soulmate died?”

I love how extremely pragmatic Penny is about the whole soulmate thing. She was with Micah for years because she liked him, and he felt right, even though she knew he wasn’t the one because his first words were not what’s written on her skin. But then he dumped her when he found his soulmate, and Penny met Shep in the US. He’s her soulmate, but it’s not like she’s dating him only because of that.

I look at the soulmark on her skin—it wraps around her wrist like a bracelet, the words Hello, my name is Shepard. I’m from Omaha, Nebraska shimmering in every colour of the rainbow. She didn’t even find him in Omaha. She was in the middle of nowhere with a broken heart, and he came to her rescue.

Shep doesn’t have a soulmark because he’s a Normal. He doesn’t seem to be bothered about it. He says that if he had one, it would say Oh, Merlin, it’s you! because that’s what Penny said when she met him.

A part of me wants that. What Penny has with Shep. What my nan had with my granddad before I was born. There are photos of them all around the house, and they look so happy. Nan always says that just because Mum and Uncle Jamie were unlucky, it doesn’t mean that I will be too. Even with a soulmark like mine.

So, I stare at my phone, and I wonder if I can wait until the weekend to see him again.

I felt a pull in my stomach when I was near him. Like a force tugging at my navel. I’ve never felt that before.

Hey, are you free tomorrow? There’s this café I’d like to try before heading to uni in the morning.

I don’t even think his campus is close to mine.

He’s probably going to think I’m a moron. That I have no chill. We were meant to meet up on Saturday.

Yes. Send me the address.

Or maybe he’s just as bad as me.